People say to write about what you know.
In 2000, however, when I, a single mom, and a former bachelor-swinging co-worker of mine had to decide who would cover the grand-opening of a new children’s museum in Abilene, Texas, and who would cover a prestigious French Impressionist art exhibit (I knew nothing about French art), he was a gentleman. I had first pick.
My editor expected me to pick the children’s museum. That was my first instinct. But even after she said the French art story would require extensive research, I surprised myself and chose the French.
I headed to the library and brought home coffee table books big enough to be coffee tables; books on Monet, Renoir, and even Rodin. These dead artists are so famous, they’re known by their last names.
I delved into the books and the names rang loudly in my mind. I recognized them from the Art Appreciation class I took in college and barely passed with a C.
I wondered why I hadn’t found these French impressionists so interesting in the mid-1980s, but I’m sure I had important things on my mind back then. Like how to get a fake ID and sneak into the old Los Arcos bar. But that’s another column.
More next week on French art. Bon voyage!